


Sam To My Dean

by proserpine_1982



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Kink Meme, M/M, Rough Sex, Shapeshifter!Dean - Freeform, broken!Clay, dub-con, psycho!Dean, virgin!clay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:43:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proserpine_1982/pseuds/proserpine_1982
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spnkink_meme: Spn/Friday 13th x-over, Shapeshifter!Dean/Clay, virgin!Clay, dub-con, rough sex</p><p>Let's just pretend that the timeline between 'Skin' fits in with 'Friday the 13th' okay?</p><p>For some reason it turns out that Dean didn't kill the 'shifter version of himself. Months later, as the weather's turned a lot colder the 'shifter needs somewhere warmer to hide out that a sewer. He rolls into a town where Clay Miller is now living with his sister after the traumatic experience she went through with Jason Voorhees.</p><p>The 'shifter follows Clay and finds out that they live in an isolated cabin, which if the snow that's threatening actually arrives, it could easily be snowed in. 'Dean' gets talking to Clay and they hit it off, and it's obvious that Clay's interested but is a virgin. 'Dean' worms his way into their lives, being invited to the cabin, when the snow does in fact come and they're stuck. 'Dean' manages to drug the siblings so that he can have his wicked way with Clay. He wakes up tied to the bed, with Dean leaning over him, touching him etc. Clay's scared because he's a virgin but DOES want Dean, so eventually he gives in and it turns out he's the biggest cockslut ever!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam To My Dean

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for my wonderful harmlessfantasy. It got out of hand. It was supposed to be this little smutty scene but somehow ended up over 9k. Also turned out so much darker than I intended, and quite serious. I warned for dub-con, but I have to admit, it might be bordering on non-con for just a little while in the beginning. My shapeshifter!Dean is a real psycho, and I chose to interpret Clay Miller as being quite broken after the events of Friday 13th. I know he might come off as a stronger character and very hero-ish, but that just didn’t really work with my little story, so I thought:’ hmmm, maybe he just completely broke down afterwards.’ Or that was what I went with at least. This is absolutely the darkest thing I’ve ever done. It is also my first fill for a prompt. I really hope you’ll tell me what you think, cos I’m really quite nervous about it, and I’m not sure I pulled it off.
> 
>  
> 
> Special thanks to harmlessfantasy for the wonderful prompt, and patience. To sylsdarkplace for amazing beta work and for the title. To iluvkinkythings for giving critique, thoughts and all around cheering. Couldn’t have finished this without any of you!
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you all enjoy and will leave a comment.

 

He liked Dean.

 

Not only because of his handsome face, and strong body. No, it was more than that. Dean was – sympathetic. Sure, he was one messed up guy. Had lots and lots of issues. Almost painful to dive into and go through, but when you stripped Dean bare from all the hurt, guilt, cockiness, hate, and anger – he was really a good guy.

 

He loved his brother, that tall one with the ridiculous hair and moody face – Sam. He had been fun to mess with.

 

Dean held a lot of respect for his father, and remembered his mother as a beautiful, warm, and loving person.

 

He cared for people in general. Wanted to 'save' them. Wanted to save his family, or what was left of it. He would die in an instant for his father or Sam. Mostly for Sam.

 

The shapeshifter had been surprised when he had dug deeper into Dean's mind and found feelings and memories regarding his brother, that weren't exactly brotherly – unless humans now found fucking your younger brother fitting. He highly doubted it, but who was he to judge?

 

And in a way, he sort of envied Dean, which was probably why he kept his likeness for so long. Sure, it was easy to navigate around humans wearing Dean's face. Lots of people were willing to spend time with a face like that. But he had mostly stayed in the sewer. Not wanting those Winchesters to come back. They thought he was dead, and that was only in his own favor.

 

Dean's mind had turned out to be a fascinating place. A place he didn't want to leave. If he had ever wanted to be someone. Really someone. If he could choose between all the humans whose form he'd taken, whose minds he'd looked into, whose identity he'd become – he would choose Dean. Dean's life might not be very easy, but he could relate. And the connection Dean had with Sam touched some part inside of him that he hadn't remembered was there.

 

The problem with all the couples he had 'met', was that there was no pure love between them – ever. It was all lies, deceit, and plastic smiles around empty 'I love yous'. The last guy – the one before Dean -- had cheated on his girl several times. He didn't even feel bad. He was just scared what would happen if he got caught, which resulted in him blaming his mistress wrongfully and treating both women like shit. But again – he shouldn’t judge, he killed people for the fun of it and even if he did feel kind of sorry for the girl, he still sliced her. Bah, humans. It wasn't like she was ‘miss perfect’ anyway. Everyone he ever met had it coming.

 

Even though he could find plenty of reasons to off the Winchesters – they weren't angels those two – he still liked them more. They weren't as complicated in a way. Or at least Dean wasn't. His love for his brother was pure, untainted. Or as untainted as an incestuous relationship could be, anyway. And he assumed Sam felt the same way towards Dean. He believed in what he was doing – hunting. He might have some issues with that father of theirs, but deep down he understood even if he didn't agree. The issues that were there seemed to be linked to Sam, so he kind of figured that everything that Dean was – his very core, was more or less Sam, or the wish to make Sam happy and keep Sam safe. That was sweet – if you liked sweet.

 

He had been going over some of the more juicy memories of Dean's over and over. He couldn't let them go. He felt completely hypnotized by them. He spent days, weeks, God knows how long – just lying and watching them in his mind’s eye. It was similar to watching a movie – except he could feel every emotion Dean had gone through like they were his own. He had lost sense of time, and when he finally snapped out of his lust filled haze, it was cold. He needed to get moving and find a new hiding place. Somewhere warm. Somewhere with someone who could keep him entertained. Someone who could make him feel like Dean felt when he was with Sam. He wanted that more than anything.

 

 

It wasn't hard for him to get lifts from strangers because of his looks. He was better at using Dean's looks to seem like a nice guy, than Dean was himself. He never had to be afraid of any 'weirdoes' or perverts either. It wasn't like he couldn't take them out if needed. Luckily everything went smoothly, and soon he found himself getting out of a car in a small town.

 

It looked nice enough, peaceful. There were small shops on both sides of the street, an ice cream parlor a little farther up, a sandwich shop, a bar, and then the small diner he stood in front. The diner was a typical ‘mom and pop’ kind of place. There were booths and small squared tables visible through the large front window. The kind of place where everyone knew each other and crap like that. He frowned to himself, watched Dean's face in the window in front of him. Dean sure was a handsome guy. He studied/admired himself for a second longer, but he found his eyes drifting, shifting to look through the window, and they landed on brown floppy hair and strong wide shoulders.

 

Sam!

 

No – wait. This guy, he wasn't Sam. He could be though. Could be Sam. Could be _his_ Sam.

The guy was tall. Maybe even taller than Sam. Even with him sitting down, it was obvious how big he was. He had broad shoulders, and his shirt stretched over his muscular back in an almost obscene way. He had dark hair, floppy like Sam's but longer. There was a scruff covering his cheeks and chin and upper lip. He was older, looked more haunted, and even if he physically looked like him, he would have an advantage on Sam Winchester. There was something about the look in his eyes. It was the way he held himself, almost like he wanted the earth to just swallow him up, and it was obvious that this guy was nowhere near as strong as Sam. He was fragile, scared, and broken.

 

Well, the guy needed to break just a bit more, before he could put him back together. But he would. He would.

 

And then they could really be Sam and Dean.

 

 

He went in to the small diner, sat a few tables away from 'Sam', but in hearing range, and faced towards him, so he would be able to sneak peeks at him. He ordered coffee, some breakfast, and asked for a paper, so it wouldn't be too obvious that he was spying on 'Sam'.

 

He smiled politely at the waitress, made some small talk while looking genuine and just like some regular guy that everyone would like. Wasn't that hard. Dean obviously didn't take advantage of the expressions his face was actually cable of. Dean could look quite harmless and innocent if he wanted to. It was all a matter of working that pretty face.

 

The waitress responded like he wanted her to. She didn't flirt in that slutty sort of way that the real Dean would have appreciated. She smiled – not in a professional serving-a-costumer way, but in a personal I-like-you way. She had put extra pieces of bacon on his plate and blushed when he thanked her, told her she really shouldn't have in a self-conscious way that she seemed to respond to.

 

When she went away, he let a shy smile linger on his face, before ducking his head slightly, and taking a sip of coffee. He let his eyes flick towards 'Sam' and was surprised to find 'Sam' looking back.

 

Time froze as he watched the guy tilt his head a bit, and those eyes changed color in the light, going from a mix between dark green and brown, to an almost royal blue. Fascinating.

He set his cup down slowly, and gave a friendly crooked smile. Something that showed a polite interest – nothing that could scare the guy. He got a nervous tightening of lips and a jerked nod in response.

 

So he was friendly. The guy's first instinct was not to brush a stranger off, but he didn't seem like he was happy with his own little 'greeting', and for the rest of his breakfast, the guy never looked up again. He kept those ever changing eyes on his food, and the only time he would look at something else was when he would stare at his watch while biting his lip.

 

It made him half hard in his pants, to watch his 'Sam' repeatedly bite that soft looking lower lip, sucking a bit on it, till he released it – swollen and spit-slicked.

 

The door to the diner jingled and a tall girl with long red hair walked in. She was beautiful and sweet looking, but he immediately recognized the same haunted, guarded look in her eyes that his 'Sam' had. She walked straight towards 'Sam', not looking anywhere else, laid a hand on his shoulder, and said: “Clay.”

 

Clay.

 

He watched Clay turn slightly, stand and wow – this guy was big as a house, and some sort of silent communication thing happened when Clay and the girl looked at each other. It was the same silent way Dean and Sam had talked. The same way most siblings could read and understand each other. He had seen it numerous times. The girl was definitely his sister.

 

The girl turned on her heal, and the guy – Clay, took a step to follow but not before casting a glance over his shoulder so their eyes could lock once more, and this time he received a shy little upturned quirk of lips, and in response he gave one of Dean's rare genuine megawatt smiles. He knew it made his face look good, knew how his eyes were now crinkling at the corners, and knew it made him look carefree, friendly, and beautiful. To his satisfaction a pink flush crawled up Clay's cheeks, before he took another step and followed his sister out of the diner.

 

 

It only took one day for him to run into Clay. He had stayed the night at a small motel in town. Good thing about hitchhiking? Small talk would let you know who would be missed and who wouldn't. He had kept his eyes on the news, and they still hadn't found the body and the car of the woman whose neck he had broken. Another good thing to remember? Never ever drive away in your victim's car unless you want to be caught.

 

He ran into Clay in front of a small convenience store. He had torn the paper off his chocolate bar and was on his way to take a bite, when a shadow fell over him, and he looked up.

 

Clay's wide and bulging frame was looming over him, but Clay looked more like a spooked rabbit than the hawk chasing it. He gave Clay one of those wide smiles again, and took a step to the left so he wasn't blocking the door anymore.

 

“Sorry, I'll just step out of the way.” He said politely, enjoying Dean's rumble and the bright red flush that again seemed to adorn Clay's face, so did Clay.

 

“Oh, urm, no worries.” Clay shyly smiled. He didn't make a move towards the door though, just stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

 

“I'm new in town. Name's Dean. Hi,” he said to break the silence. He stuck out Dean's hand towards Clay, and Clay eyed it for half a second, before grabbing it and shaking it firmly.

 

“Clay. Kind of new. Nice to meet you Dean.” The way Clay breathed the name “Dean,” made him feel all weird and warm inside. Whatever had made Clay's eyes this haunted, it'd better not still be alive and come back for him. He might not know Clay yet, but that didn't matter. Clay was his to protect, to keep safe, and nothing would ever come between them. Clay was his Sam, and there was nothing Dean wouldn't do for Sam.

 

 

They ran into each other like this every day. It was easy to talk to Clay, to flirt, to make him smile that dimpled smile that made him want to crawl inside Clay, to possess him and never let him go. They had coffee, had lunch, had another lunch where he was officially introduced to Whitney – the tall red head, Clay's sister.

 

Whitney was even more skittish than Clay. Eyes seemed to look into another reality most of the time, and when her mind was actually present her eyes darted, her hands shook, and she flinched away from everyone except Clay. She leaned on Clay in a way that had his mind flash back to the Winchester's, and he supposed that she would have been someone he would have had to get rid of in normal circumstances. This wasn't Sam and Dean though. This didn’t seem normal. While she leaned on Clay, Clay was obviously not capable of supporting her, or even leaning back. He watched Clay making halfhearted attempts of being strong but failing miserably. Clay was too broken himself to be any sort of comfort, too broken and too needy not to try and lean on him. Perfect.

 

He quickly found out that Clay and Whitney lived together in a small cabin out of town. It was nice, comfy, secluded, and it would be the perfect place to hole up when snow would fall and the weather would be too cold to roam around in.

 

All he needed was a way in. He needed to get invited to stay, but he knew it wouldn't be easy. Clay was sweet. Sweeter than any human he had ever met. He cared about others in a way that was almost pathetic. Clay also knew that “Dean” liked this town that he wanted to stick around here, but was still holed up in the motel. Clay had been sympathetic, had tried to find him somewhere to stay despite his modest protests, had invited him to breakfast, lunch, dinner, and had even showed up with a casserole, several sandwiches and pie. Clay had done everything but invite him in.

 

He was beginning to think he would have to take the chance and ask, or kill off Whitney even if he didn't really want to, and simply tie Clay up with him and force him to love him. Love him? And when did it become about love more than want?

 

As it happened everything sorted itself out.

 

He had been walking in the woods surrounding the small town one evening. The air had a crispness to it that promised snow, and the sky was clear. Sometimes human company made his skin crawl, and he needed to get away for a while, needed to be somewhere where he couldn't hear them, smell them, and feel them.

 

He had strolled towards the small lake. It was an almost straight way from the back of his motel through the woods, when he heard it. A whimper and a rustling. It intrigued him. It made him miss the whimpers of women while he sliced their skin, and he sneaked his way towards the sound.

 

He only felt conflicted for a second. This was fate, shining her light at him, and no perverse need to see pale skin torn apart could or would make him turn his back on this chance.

 

It was Whitney. Her body was blue with cold, half naked, her eyes as far away as ever. From her lips, there was a steady stream of whispers: “ClayClayClayClayClayClay...”

 

That was the only indication that she was crying for help. She didn't struggle. Only flinched and jumped, as the guy looming over her tore her panties off, from under her skirt.

 

If it wasn't for the almost silent cries for her brother, and the split lip, bruises on her face, arms, and neck it could look like she wanted this.

 

Only he knew better. He had seen fear in the eyes of every person he had torn apart. Seen women's eyes go from want and lust and love to panic, terror and finally resignation. When they realized that no plea, no tears and no nothing would save them. The way shiny, soulful eyes would suddenly become dull, lights off, and they simply would become limp little ragdolls, finding peace with their fate, with their lives ending.

 

Whitney wasn't quite there yet. But he would imagine all the guy had to do was penetrate, to force himself inside her, and she would check out.

 

He could let it happen. He could watch, get off on her eyes dying, and on the dark blood as it would be smeared all over her creamy thighs.

 

He could save her. Snap the guy's neck before he knew what hit him. Gather her in her arms, whisper soothingly in her ear and carry her back to Clay.

 

It surprised him how easily he chose the latter.

 

Whitney didn’t even blink when the guy's dead body fell in on itself, and slumped to the ground. He never thought Whitney actually liked him much, or trusted him, or really took any notice in his existence. Now she just reached both her arms out towards him, like a child asking to be picked up. He did pick her up. She was a tall girl, but he wasn’t a shape shifter for nothing, and it was not hard to carry her through the woods to the cabin where she and Clay resided.

 

She didn’t say anything to him. Just held on tight as if she was trying crawl inside him. She trusted him to keep her safe. He would. For now at least.

 

They reached the cabin, and he kicked the door with his boots. It only took a second for Clay to open it, and his face crumbled as he watched Dean carry Whitney inside. Clay showed him her bedroom, and he placed her gently on the bed, stroking her hair. Her hands wouldn’t let go of his jacket, and she whimpered when he carefully pried her fingers away.

 

“Get her in the shower. She's gonna need that. She's okay, just a couple of bruises and stuff. I came before anything could happen. She's gonna need something cold on her chin and her cheek. I'm gonna go take care of the rest. I'll be back in a few.”

 

“Wh-what? Take care of the...? What happened? Who?” Clay stammered and he gripped onto his shoulder.

 

“Don't worry about it now. She's okay. Clay, you need to calm down and be there for Whitney okay? Listen, someone tried to hurt her, but I prevented that, and now I gotta take care of it. Do you understand what I'm saying, Clay?” He kept his voice stern, soothing but commanding. He needed Clay to be here, be with Whitney, while he made the body disappear.

 

“You? You ki....” Clay whispered but cut himself off as he crashed his lips against Dean’s. Both of Clay’s huge hands came up to cradle the back of his head, while he sloppily and desperately pressed his mouth against Dean's plumper one.

 

He moaned when Clay snaked his tongue out to trace along Dean's fat lower lip, and he opened up, let Clay in, and shivered when Clay sucked on his tongue.

 

“Please Dean. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. God, Dean. I can’t... Please, just come back okay? Come back. Hurry and come back. Thank you. So much. Thank you.”

 

The helplessness, the gratitude and the desperation in Clay's voice had protectiveness surge up in him, and he hugged Clay tight, kissed him back, and cupped his face.

 

“Take care of Whitney. I'll be back in a little while.”

 

Clay’s slanted, cat like eyes were wet and shiny, and he clutched his bicep all the way to the door, only letting go when he kissed him again, and murmured against Clay's lips: “Take care of her now, Clay. I'll be back before you know it.”

 

 

Taking care of dead bodies wasn't anything to write home about. It was a necessary evil, and it took him about an hour and a half. He was careful when he walked back to his motel now in the shape of the man he just killed, so no one saw him. He shed his skin – taking Dean’s looks once again, took a shower, and changed his clothes. He threw all of his stuff in a duffel bag and sneaked out into the woods again.

 

All in all – three hours since he left the cabin, he was back. He reached out to knock on the door, but Clay beat him to it.

 

“Thank God.” The big man breathed, and Dean found himself pulled into a clingy, shaky hug.

 

“Hey. Hey. Easy now.” He soothed, carding his rough hands through Clay's shaggy hair. “Everything is okay now. I promise.” He kissed Clay gently. More a peck than anything, and Clay kissed back hungrily.

 

“She's asleep.” Clay told him as he pulled him all the way inside the cabin and bolted the door after him.

 

They sat down in a big worn down couch, Clay plastered against his side, holding onto him like he was his lifeline.

 

“Tell me what happened. I need to know. Everything.” The determination in Clay's voice surprised him. He hadn't even considered telling Clay, but there was something in Clay's voice. He sat there for a minute, thinking about it, weighing how this could either benefit him, or backlash.

 

“Please Dean, “Clay pleaded, “I need to know.”

 

So he told him. Told Clay everything but how he had considered leaving Whitney to her destiny. Clay was silent for a long time. He just sniffled, leaning on him, and he could feel little moist puffs of breath against the skin on his neck.

 

“Thank you. You saved her. Saved me. If you only knew how much we needed that. How much we need... I need… someone like you.”

 

Yeah, it was easy as pie after that.

 

 

They never asked him to stay officially. Whitney asked two days later if he'd remembered to check out of the motel. He left to check out immediately.

 

Whitney didn't seem more broken after what happened, but he figured she hardly could be. She never actually thanked him. Just squeezed his arm and gave him an attentive smile the next day. He knew what she was saying. He was happy he helped her. It was a weird feeling, not one he had had before. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

 

Clay was different. He was clingy, affectionate, and while he still didn't talk much, he was constantly by his side.

 

From the conversations they actually had, he soon found out Clay was a virgin. Or a virgin in all the ways that mattered in their relationship.

 

Clay had never been with another guy. He had never even kissed another man before those sloppy, desperate exchanges the night of Whitney's attack.

 

Despite Clay's new clinginess, he seemed scared about things evolving between them, and kept it to kissing and hugging and leaning on, sitting by, clutching to, and snuggling up against. Dean supposed he sort of enjoyed it. Enjoyed the closeness, and the feeling of someone who fully depended on him. He liked the way Clay stayed close all the time, how he looked at him as if he held all the answers. It was new. It was addictive. It made him feel important, powerful, and maybe a bit hopeful that he and Clay could be like Sam and Dean. He would be a better 'Dean' than the real one. It would be easy too, because Clay made him feel like Dean did when he was with Sam, and that was exactly what he had wanted to begin with.

 

 

The snow fell a week after Whitney's attack. It didn't stop, and 24 hours later there was no leaving the cabin at all. It didn't bother him. It didn't bother Clay or Whitney either. Whitney had taken to staying in her bedroom most of the time. She never asked for Clay's company, just disappeared with a book in her hands, borrowing herself under the blankets.

 

Clay had been the one to keep the cabin stocked, had made sure there was plenty of wood for the fire, and he cooked for the three of them. Mostly he just sat and stared into the fireplace, leaning his huge body against Dean’s, snuggling even closer when he was tired.

 

It was so quiet and peaceful, and Dean was driving himself crazy.

 

 

He decided that he had waited long enough three days after the first snow fell. He had tried to coax Clay into doing more than kiss, but Clay had been more than reluctant. He had to do something way more drastic if he wanted to get the guy naked and writhing on his cock.

 

They had gotten into a habit of drinking hot chocolate every evening. Sometimes Clay made it, sometimes he made it. Whoever made it also carried one cup to Whitney's bedroom and kept her company for a minute or so. She was never very talkative, and even though Clay wasn't worried about her, he still hated that she spent all her time alone in her bedroom.

 

It was easy to drug the hot chocolate he gave Clay and Whitney. He made sure Whitney's dose would make her sleep through the night. He didn't want her to wake up before morning. He stayed for almost 15 minutes, making polite small talk with Whitney, watched her get drowsy, watched her yawn, and finally he tucked her in, kissed her forehead, and she closed her eyes, let sleep take over without ever knowing she was drugged.

 

When he came back to the living room, Clay was drifting off too despite his cup not being spiked as much as Whitney's. His head bobbing as he tried to stay awake, and it was almost comical how little fuss he made, when 'Dean' – he had started to refer to himself as Dean in his thoughts, lifted him from the couch. He suggested that Clay go take a nap, and he half carried, half dragged Clay into his bedroom and placed him on the covers.

 

He sat next to Clay, stroked his hair, and whispered soothing nonsense to his ear. Clay's hair was silky under Dean's calloused palms.

 

Clay finally fell into a deep sleep. He took his time to undress him, let his hands drift all over that beautiful tanned skin. He pressed his palm to Clay's heart, and smiled at the slow and steady 'thump thump thump'. He stretched Clay's long muscular arms above his head, and tied them to the headboard. He repeated the action with Clay's legs, and shuddered at the feel of rough hair and strong perfect thighs. Even Clay’s feet were perfect.

 

He made sure the knots were tight enough to hold Clay, but not so tight that they would hurt him. Well, unless he tugged and struggled – which he probably would for a while, but that was okay. He knew small amounts of pain could intensify pleasure, so it was all good.

 

Now all he had to do was wait.

 

 

It was dark outside when Clay started to stir. He looked adorable in his sleepy confusion, and his body unconsciously moved up into the touches of Dean Winchester's large and callous hands. He knew it would only be a minute before panic would take over, but he enjoyed the feel of Clay's flawless skin and the way his muscles moved under it. He let his hands rest, widely splayed over Clay's chest, and leaned a bit closer to look at his face when he realized what was going on.

 

“Mmmm.” Clay moaned half awake, and he tried in vain to turn over on his side. The realization that is was impossible, because something was holding his arms up, had him blinking violently, and he tried to sit up, only to be pressed back down into the mattress. He bucked, gasped and tried to flail his arms.

 

“No! Nonononono. Whit...! He's here. Whitney! Whitney!” Clay's panicked cry made him react, and he grabbed hold of his head, and held it still, so Clay would see him.

 

“Clay! Clay! It's me! Take it easy. Easy! It's me, only me. Look at me, Clay! It's Dean. It's Dean!” The second Clay recognized him, the fight went out of his body, but he was still tense and confused.

 

“Dean? What? What's going on? Why am I tied? What are you doing? Let me up!”

 

He shook his head slowly and let one of the more patented Dean smirks graze his lips. “Can't do that Clay. But just relax. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just gonna take what's mine. Trust me, Clay. You'll love it.”

 

Clay's eyes widened at his words, and he started to fight against his restraints again. “Dean! Let me go! Please, Dean. Just... Please ...” Clay whimpered, and tears were starting to gather in his eyes. “Why are you…? Please just let me go!” The last word was a yell, and Clay began to buck and twist even harder in his panic, and he realized that he had to calm him down before he hurt himself.

 

“Clay! Clay! Stop it! Calm down! Now!” But Clay didn't seem to be able to hear his words, and he started screaming and yelling, sounding like a man tortured. The loud smack of his palm connecting with Clay's right thigh had him stilling though. He looked up at Dean's face wide eyed and scared, and tears started to run freely down his cheeks. He hadn't wanted to slap Clay, not like that, but the way Clay had been tearing at the ropes, his skin was now torn and bleeding. He didn't want Clay to hurt himself. He wanted Clay to enjoy this.

 

“Please, Dean. Please.” Clay whispered, and his voice trembled as well as his body.

 

“Shhh, baby.” He whispered. “I won't hurt you. Promise.” He gently wiped away salty tears and chastely kissed Clay's soft lips.

 

“You're so beautiful, Clay. So gorgeous. I wanted you ever since I saw you the first time. I know you want me too. So just relax, okay, baby? And just try and enjoy it all.” Clay whimpered in response, mumbling 'please' and 'no', and 'don't'.

 

He ignored the pleas, and kept on making soothing noises while running his hands all over Clay's stunning body. He let his lips and tongue run over Clay's collarbone and suckled on the salty skin there, while his thumb and forefinger pinched a nipple. Clay made a strangled sound as if he didn't know whether he liked it or didn't. But his chest arched into the touch, and the shifter let a small dark chuckle against Clay's tanned skin, sounding so much like Dean that he almost believed he was him.

 

“Clay.” He breathed, and let his hands drift down hard abs, to the juts of his hips. It felt so right the way they fitted in his palms, and he sucked a nipple into his mouth and moaned around it. Clay gasped, and writhed. He pressed into the mattress trying to get away from the teasing tongue, but apparently couldn't help lifting his hips when Dean took a firm grip around Clay's cock.

 

“Nooooo.” Clay cried, but his hips started to move, and his breath hitched. Clearly his body was enjoying this, but his mind was still trying to fight it.

 

“Let go, baby. Just let go. I'll take care of you Clay. No one's gonna hurt you. Just let me take care of you.” He released Clay's nipple but kept up his slow, almost lazy pump of Clay's cock. He let his own body slide up against the hard plains of Clay's, and let his mouth meet Clay's neck.

 

He sucked a mark onto the thin skin, and Clay just cocked his head, and gave him more space.

“Dean. I....I-I don't want this. Please just... God, stop.” Clay moaned, when Dean let his thumb swipe over the bulbous head of Clay's dick at an upstroke, gathering the copious amount of pre-come that had pooled out.

 

“You don’t want this baby? But you’re drooling. Look.” He taunted, and lifted his hand to Clay's face, so he could see the sticky wetness that had glued itself to Dean's thumb. He grabbed Clay's chin with his other hand and forced him to open up.

 

“Taste.” He whispered, and he pressed his thumb inside Clay's wide mouth. He didn't need to tell him to suck. As soon as his thumb was securely sealed between luscious pink lips, Clay suckled like it was a pacifier, and he moaned wantonly, slurped and licked.

 

“Good boy.” He praised, and gently petted Clay's hair. “So goddamn gorgeous. Just made for me. Make it good and wet baby. It's the only lube you're gonna get.” He warned, and pulled his thumb from Clay's now abused lips and smiled at the thick layer of spit covering the skin.

 

“Please.” Clay said again, and it was so obvious that he himself didn’t know if it was a plea for Dean to stop or to continue.

 

When Dean's thumb found Clay's virgin hole, Clay's body tensed, and he looked almost as scared as he did when he woke up.

 

“Wait! Wait. Please. Dean.” He waited, and raised a questioning eyebrow at Clay. “Just. I've...I've never... I'm a... Please. Don’t...” And his voice broke, “Please don't hurt me.”

 

Something about the utter despair and fear in Clay's voice softened him. Clay wasn't telling him to stop anymore. He wasn't refusing him this or fighting him. He was just asking him to care, to be gentle, and to not hurt him.

 

He shushed Clay and claimed his mouth in a rough and possessive kiss. Their tongues tangled, and they both groaned into it. He tried to show Clay everything he felt in that kiss and was surprised to find Clay kissing back with a fever he hadn't yet experienced.

 

“I'll take care of you. It'll be so good. I've got you.” He panted against Clay's mouth that he reluctantly released. Clay chased his mouth, but was held back by his restraints, and he tugged and winced.

 

“Don't. You hurt yourself before. Just lay back.” Clay obeyed, even if he did look really nervous. His eyes looked almost black in the dark, pupils so dilated that they swallowed up the swirl of colors that normally adorned Clay's expressive eyes. His breath was coming in short pants, and he didn't take his eyes off Dean as he kissed his way down his chest.

 

Dean teased Clay's navel with his tongue and licked his way down the trail of downy hair bathed in pre-come.

 

Clay's cock was big. It was long and thick, and the head was dark red and oozing. He sucked it into his mouth and moaned around the silky skin and salty taste. Clay cried out. He bucked his hips, trying to get more of his dick inside Dean's mouth. He pulled back and swiped his tongue around head, before licking his way down Clay's length to his balls. They were tight against his body, big and a little sweaty, but they tasted so good, just like the rest of Clay. He spent another moment, rolling them in his mouth, before releasing them and letting his tongue tease Clay's perineum.

 

The sounds escaping Clay now, had no trace of his former reluctance. The steady stream of 'please' was still rolling of his tongue, but now he only begged for more. His body was in constant movement, writhing and bucking, and every now and then this high keening noise would worm its way out his throat, and it made Dean's body shudder in anticipation.

 

He couldn't wait any longer, so desperate to taste Clay where no one else had, and he plunged his tongue against his rim, making Clay almost fly out of his restraints, and grabbed each of his butt cheeks firmly, and pried Clay open.

 

The ropes securing Clay's ankles were making things difficult, and he quickly un-did them. He was sure now, that Clay wouldn't kick him off or struggle against him. He was right. Clay wrapped those strong legs around him, trying to get him closer, but he grabbed a hold underneath each thigh, and pressed them up against Clay’s body, exposing his pink hole in a way that had his mouth watering.

 

“Bet you're real greedy once I get in there,” he teased and snaked his tongue out to swipe over Clay's hole. Clay didn't protest. He just moaned, canted his hips, spread his thighs like a whore.

 

Dean chuckled. He knew Clay would be a slut once he let himself go. He spat directly on the furled muscles, watched it wink at him, and he probed it, forced his tongue inside, and sucked at the rim.

 

Clay tasted dark, and sweaty, and tangy, but it just made Dean even harder, and he got his thumbs lined up against the opening and spread Clay wider for his tongue.

 

“Dean. OhGod. God. No. More. Nghnn.” Clay didn't know what he was saying anymore, and it was disturbingly arousing to Dean that even through his haze of lust Clay was still saying no.

 

At the first finger, Clay's body went rigid, and he stiffened, clenched, his body trying to stop the probing. He begged Dean to stop, tried half-heartedly, to close his legs. Dean gave him a warning slap to where Clay's ass met his thigh, and spat on his hole to ease the way.

 

Their eyes locked and Dean smirked as he pressed two fingers inside Clay roughly. Clay's face scrunched up in pain, but his erection didn't wither at all. On the contrary it drooled even more pre-come onto his stomach, and Dean pulled out his fingers, gathered the pre-come, and shoved the fingers inside again.

 

He started fucking Clay hard, twisting and scissoring the digits, giving Clay a little slap every time he tried to pull his body away from the rough intrusion.

 

“Gonna spread you open baby. Make you gape real wide. You'll like that won't you?” He said in Dean's throaty rasp, and Clay shook his head violently, strands of sweat soaked hair whipping around his face.

 

“Please.”

 

Dean laughed, low and throaty. Despite his dick being hard as granite, Clay still tried to refuse, still tried to act like he didn’t want it.

 

“You’re right. This is probably too much, huh baby? Maybe I should ease off, leave this pretty virgin come-hole alone. We don’t want it to be all sore now do we?” He smiled evilly, and pulled his fingers carefully from Clay’s hole. The skin was flaming red and puffy around the rim, and it shined with spit and pre-come.

 

The pathetic whine that left Clay’s throat when Dean took his hands off him, was almost enough to make Dean feel sorry for Clay. He sat up, leaned back on his haunches, and watched as Clay started to twist and turn.

 

He could see how that beautiful mouth silently formed the words ‘no’ and ‘please’. How the muscles in Clay’s strong arms strained against their confines and Clay bucked, lifted his ass off the mattress, spread his thighs wantonly, and wriggled invitingly.

 

“Maybe that was cruel. Maybe I should at least try and comfort you in some way, now that I’ve tried to violate you so roughly.” His voice perfectly copied Dean’s from the images he had been in love with for so long. The images of the Winchester brothers in each other’s arms, Dean’s voice rolling over Sam’s body like molasses, both soothing and teasing his little brother until Sam’s blazing feral eyes would leak tears in pure pleasure.

 

He scooted up besides Clay. Molded his body against his, and sucked on his earlobe. He captured one strong leg between his own, and rubbed his erection against a lightly-haired tanned thigh.

 

“Now, this place,” He stroked a teasing finger over the silky skin of Clay’s entrance, “I’ll leave this place alone.” He smiled and sucked a mark just behind Clay’s ear, feeling the muscle jump and contract under his finger, Clay trying to push into the touch.

 

“But these, “ and he let his hand trail upwards, ignoring Clay’s weeping erection, going straight for hard and peaked nipples. “These need attention - special attention. Don’t you agree baby?”

 

In one smooth move he sat up, straddled Clay’s upper body, and grabbed both nipples between thumb and pointer.

 

“Mmmmnnnnn….” Clay keened, and bucked, but Dean’s weight was too heavy, and he could do nothing more than lay there and just take it, as Dean twisted and pulled and pinched until Clay sobbed.

 

“Dean. Dean. DeanDeanDeanDean.” He cried, and moved his head back and forth in equal amounts of despair and arousal.

 

“Please…Please…Please… Just… Please…” Dean was a killer. Clay knew that. He’d killed to protect Whitney. He scared Clay, hurt him, but he’d protect him too.

 

“Tell me!” Dean demanded, bowing down and licking a stripe up the cleft adorning Clay’s chin. “Tell me where you want me. Want you to say it. Tell me where I should put my fingers.”

 

It was absolutely breathtaking how Clay’s eyes went round, desperation written in them. His whole body stilled, and unconsciously he sucked his lower lip into his mouth. Dean could see the struggle in him. How Clay weighed his options. How he understood the ‘no-bullshit’ tone Dean had used. Clay knew that there was no way around it.

 

Something about watching an over-grown man, a man with a body like a God, a man with a strong face, with clever eyes, a man who could be dangerous as any weapon if he wanted to, blush like a 12-year-old school girl and lower his eyes in submission, and open his body up to be taken, giving away every bit of control and dignity to someone, that is the essence of both power and beauty.

 

“Want you in me.”

 

He captured Clay’s mouth in a brutal kiss, and let himself be lost in the heat and passion of it. His fingers trailed down Clay’s body and gave an evil little chuckle when Clay lifted off the mattress, and spread his legs.

 

This time he wanted lube, and he regretfully pulled himself off Clay.

 

“Shhh, just getting something to ease the way.” He whispered when Clay blinked at him confused, and tried to follow, but unable to because of his restraints.

 

He stood up, gave Clay an easy grin, and let all of Dean Winchester’s cockiness and sexual confidence settle in his body. It felt good. Right. Like it belonged in him, and slowly peeled off his shirt, unbuckled his belt, and stripped out of his clothes.

 

Clay’s eyes were big in the dark. Following every movement, watching intensely as Dean’s body was presented to him. Dean looked good. His body was strong and flawless, and he thought he might send the Winchesters a thank you card. Hell, maybe even a fruit basket.

 

He bent down, grabbed the little tube of lube out of the back pocket of his jeans and got comfortable between Clay’s thighs once more.

 

“Dean.” Clay sighed when he let his thumb rub over the soft wrinkled skin. It clenched under the pad of his thumb for a second, and then relaxed – unfurling like a little flower.

 

“You gonna be a good boy, and open up real nice for me, Clay?” he drawled and rubbed with a little more pressure at the same time as he let his other thumb snick the tube open.

 

“Yeah. Come on Dean. Don’t make me wait.” God, Clay’s voice! Hoarse and deep, and dripping with want. He sounded just like Sam. Just like Sam had sounded in Dean’s memories. Just like he had wanted someone to sound with him.

 

He slicked up two fingers, and eased them inside. Clay was loose from the rough way he had opened him up earlier, and the two fingers slid in and out easily. He added a third, and waited till Clay started fucking down on his hand, then he spread his fingers as wide as possible and let Clay’s keening wash over his mind.

 

He pulled his fingers out with a pop. He didn’t want it to hurt, but damn he wanted Clay to feel him, to feel the burn, and thrash to escape but be forced to take.

 

“Gonna fuck you now.” He rasped, as he lubed up his dick. Clay’s breathing stopped, and he swallowed loudly.

 

“No. I-I don’t think… Please, I’ve changed…” was all he let Clay manage to stutter out, before he swiftly grabbed his legs, and forced Clay’s knees to his torso. This way he could hold him down with one arm, and he leaned his weight into it, took hold of the base of his cock, and started pushing at Clay’s hole.

 

“No. God. No, please.” Clay sobbed, and he cried out as the head of Dean’s cock popped through the first ring. Slow and steady he eased inside sweat dripping from his brow. It was so hard not to just plunge inside that tight, wet and sucking heat, but he wanted Clay to feel every vein on his cock and every drag over sensitive and abused skin.

 

Clay made a choked off hiccup sound when he popped through his second ring, and most of his length was finally seated inside Clay. Clay panted quickly and loudly, and he could feel how his hole was trying to push the sudden intrusion out, but it only resulted in making things easier, and sucking him in even more.

 

“Almost there. Relax.” He panted, and let his finger run over the stretched skin of Clay’s hole. Clay jolted at the touch, and he pushed one last time.

 

God! Perfect. Inside Clay was perfect. Warm, soft walls clinging to his dick, clenching and pushing, and throbbing.

 

“So fucking perfect. Ass fucking made for my cock.” He let both palms find the underside of Clay’s knees, and swirled his hips, letting his dick rotate a bit inside Clay’s ass.

 

“Fuck! Feels so fucking good inside you. How’s it? How does it feel to be stretched wide around me? Huh? Tell me?”

 

Clay, who had been laying with his eyes closed, mouth open, little frown between his eyebrows, and little pained breaths leaving his lips, snapped his eyes open, pupils huge and black.

 

Sweat was sticking Dean’s hair to his forehead, and he rocked his hips a little as if to test the waters.

 

“Nnnhh. Burns. Full. Uhhh. God.” Clay moaned, and his eyes rolled in the back of his head when he once again clenched around the cock inside of him.

 

Dean could feel the corner of his mouth pulling upwards, and he let his hand, the one still covered in lube from opening Clay up, release Clay’s knee, and he pushed all three fingers inside Clay’s open mouth.

 

“Clean ‘em.” He ordered, but it wasn’t really necessary as Clay immediately started sucking and slurping, licking away all his ass juices from Dean’s fingers.

 

“Mmmmmm.” Clay moaned around them, and the sound went up a few octaves, as he used the distraction to pull out a bit and plunge back in.

 

“Huhhhnnnn,” Clay suddenly yelled out, and Dean decided that he’d been gentle enough for one night. He pulled his hand from Clay’s mouth, gleeful when Clay’s mouth chased it, and let his fingers settle on Clay’s thighs, gripping hard enough to leave bruises. He pulled back roughly, and snapped his hips forward, letting his balls and thighs clasp against Clay’s ass.

 

He set a violent pace, not letting Clay adjust, and watched in fascination as Clay’s face first contorted in pain, and then slowly became more and more wanton.

 

Clay’s eyes were open, but rolled back into his head seeing nothing. His head thrown back at the pillow, mouth open, tongue lolling out, a constant stream of groans and sounds of desperate pain and pleasure forcing their way out.

 

Clay’s body was in constant motion though. His hips rolling down to meet every pound of cock into his ass. A beautiful sheen of sweat was covering his body, almost making in glow in the darkness, making every hard ridge and muscle stand out perfectly.

 

Dean kept pushing and pulling, and looked down to watch his engorged dick go in and out of Clay. Clay’s rim was stretched impossibly wide around his girth, and he smirked a bit, praising God or whoever for letting Dean Winchester have such a fat cock. He fingered Clay’s rim a bit, loving how it was clinging to his cock like it never wanted it to leave.

 

“Don’t slow down. God Dean. Uhhhh. Come one. Fuck me.” Clay gasped, working his ass down, trying to get him to speed up again. He hadn’t been aware that he’d almost stilled, half lodged inside Clay, just staring and rubbing at the place where they connected.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, Clay, gonna fuck you. Gonna fuck you so good.” He pushed at Clay’s legs again, putting all of his weight on him, till Clay’s ass came right of the mattress, his knees almost around his ears.

 

“God! Bendy huh? That’s so hot.” He moaned, and started working his hips again. Long, strong, and forceful strokes, his balls slapping, his dick rubbing over Clay’s prostate, making the body underneath him jolt and spasm.

 

“Oh God, yeah. Fuck! That spot. Oh..Oh…Jesus fuck.” Clay babbled, and he clenched, making Dean’s hips stutter and speed up.

 

Dean wasn’t going to last much longer. His whole world narrowing down to Clay’s tight hole, and the way Clay’s huge dick was now hanging dangerously over his own face. Dean wondered briefly, if he pushed even harder, if Clay could actually stick his tongue out and touch the damn thing. They would try that later.

 

He was on the balls of his feet, legs bent awkwardly, burning and hurting, but he didn’t care. He watched Clay thrash in his restraints, cry out every time he pushed forward, watched as drops of sweat from his face dripped down and landed on Clay’s lips, in his mouth, on his neck.

 

He could feel the welcoming heat pooling in his stomach, in his groin, and his pace got more and more frantic as he chased the feeling.

 

Clay’s sounds were more high gasps and choked-off hiccups now than anything else. His face and chest flushed dark red, brows creasing, and it only took the touch of one finger on his cock, before he exploded all over himself.

 

He watched fascinated as come sprayed out of Clay’s almost purple dick. Coating his own face and chest and neck. Landing in his mouth, because he didn’t have enough function in his brain to close it. How his eyes snapped up surprised, every color gone, only black remaining. He didn’t yell or scream or anything like that. Just a rasping throaty sound hotter than anything else. His body contracted, released and contracted a couple of times. His hole twitched and clenched around Dean’s dick so hard he almost couldn’t move. Every muscle stood out, tendons in his neck, vein in his forehead. 

 

Dean let go a second after that. Hips stuttering at first, then stopping and pressing deep inside Clay. Legs shaking, dick pulsing, painting Clay’s insides. He gave guttural moan, which went into a higher note when Clay’s hole started milking him.

 

His whole body shook, and he fell back, coming out of Clay with a wet pop. The mattress bounced as Clay’s ass landed heavy on it, at the same time as Dean fell back to sit on his butt.

 

“Shit.” He rasped, eyes glued to the now open hole, where come was trickling out steadily.

“Fuck Clay. Push it out for me.” He demanded. Clay didn’t answer, his breath was heaving and erratic, but Dean smiled when he saw how the rim started working, pushing and retracting, pushing and retracting. Globs of thick, pearly white come rolled out with a wet noise that made Clay’s body flinch, and immediately he closed his legs.

 

Dean couldn’t help but laugh fondly at the sudden shyness, and he crawled up Clay’s body. Kissing all the way, till he was face to face with the blushing man.

 

The redness of his face only made the specks of come stand out even more, and he didn’t think twice about it, as he started licking them away, kissing Clay in between.

 

The welcoming wetness of Clay’s mouth, the eager and happy noises, made his dick give a feeble twitch, and he cringed a bit as it hurt.

 

He reached up, released Clay’s arms, and Clay gave a relieved moan. Dean kept kissing him, letting his tongue run over Clay’s teeth, his palate, and tangle with Clay’s. His hands rubbed and massaged Clay’s aching arms, and he smiled when he dug his fingers into hard and bulging biceps.

 

“I love you. Love you, Dean.” Clay whispered against his lips, arms snaking around his waist, holding him close. Something inside him froze up, itching to let his fingers wrap around Clay’s throat, to let his knife glide over all that tanned skin mess it up, make Clay bleed.

 

“Stay with me. Love you. Dean. God. Love you so much. Thank you.” Clay continued to moan, and big hands were caressing over his back, down to his ass cupping his cheeks, run back up again, into his hair. Nails scraped his scalp, thumbs rubbed his temples, palms cupped his face as an insistent mouth kept sucking on his lower lip, kissing and whispering declarations and pleas to stay.

 

It would be easy – to take them both out. Whitney was still sleeping, she wouldn’t even know. Clay wasn’t fighting, his head wasn’t really there – all wrapped up in afterglow and emotions he didn’t understand. Would be so easy. Just to let his hands travel to that beautiful throat. Watch the swirl of colors burn out in Clay’s eyes. Feel his breath stutter and disappear forever. Easy. Safe. Perfect.

 

Instead he found himself snuggling further into Clay’s clingy embrace, tucking his head under his chin, and leaving wet kisses on that throat, and closing his eyes. Clay’s hands felt so nice on his skin, stroking. It soothed him, soothed the things inside him wanting to break free.

 

“It was amazing. You’re so amazing. Love you so much. So grateful… Just perfect. Dean. Please stay here with us. With me. Don’t ever leave. Love you.”

 

Clay’s voice was slurred, tired and sleepy. He wasn’t sure Clay was really aware of the things leaving his mouth, but they were beautiful words, and he found that he didn’t mind so much listening to them.

 

He let his eyes open for a second when he felt Clay’s breath even out. He’d been looking for this, hadn’t he? For someone to want him back?

 

Hadn’t he spent days and weeks roaming around Dean Winchester’s memories and feelings, just to be close to the connection Dean shared with his brother?

 

Clay was perfect. Just like Sam.

 

This was the thing he had been coveting more than anything – that connection, that link with someone that Sam and Dean shared, that none of the people he had killed really felt deep inside. It was present here. These weren’t Dean Winchester’s emotions rolling around inside him, they were his own.

 

It wasn’t Dean and Sam.

 

It was _his_ Sam.

 

Clay.

 


End file.
